Monday, November 28, 2016

Many of my majority culture friends (and yes, I share
majority culture privilege in some ways, too, but I also have some minority experiences) are asking, in the aftermath of
the election, “How do I help?” I hear your hearts. I see your earnestness.
And I believe you can help, can be a force for change. I believe you can do
it.

But you might not like the answer as to how.

The election has revealed what’s been there all along: we
have a race problem. I’ll say it again: We. Have. A. Race. Problem.

If that sentence makes you uncomfortable, good. This is not
an easy topic. If that sentence makes you mad, use it. Ask Jesus--Immanuel--God With Us--to cleanse that
anger of sin, and then use it for change. For the changing of your heart foremost.

And if that sentence makes you say, “No, we don’t have a race problem!” then this post is not for you. This post is for brothers and sisters who are
willing to speak this fundamental truth—that our country was founded on the sin
of oppressing the vulnerable, and that those practices continue today. At every
level, from individual to structural, vulnerable people are oppressed,
marginalized, and hurt. If you disagree with that statement, then let us disagree graciously with one another and remain friends.

But if you are starting to see the vulnerable around you, if you
are becoming aware of the oppressed, the marginalized, the hurt and the invisible in our society, if you are becoming aware of your majority culture privilege, welcome. God is at work in you. Because he’s seen those folks--those human beings--all along. And now you that you
see the brokenness, there’s no way back to blissful ignorance. There’s no way
provided in the gospel for ignoring the hard truths and going backwards.

But does it seem impossible to move forward? Does it seem that as
soon as you realize that we have a race problem, then you realize you’re part
of that problem, and then when you try to solve that problem, you can't? That’s frustrating. That's disheartening. That's exhausting. And it's especially hard when it is the very people you'd like to serve that are telling you "no."

Would you like to know why you’re being told no?

Yes, you'd like to know?

Are
you sure?

"No" is so often the answer for several reasons. Some of them
are good reasons, some of them are bad, and some just are. But there are real
reasons behind why your well-meaning efforts may not be helpful, may be met with
resistance, and may drive wedges further.

Because the "yes" that God is asking of you now might be the
worst kind of (in)action imaginable in our dominant culture: listening and
lamenting.

I'll say it again. Listening and lamenting.

“No,” you say, “You don’t get it. I want to DO something.
Take action. Take a stand. Stop injustice in its tracks.” I say, "Wonderful! Good for you,
but YOU don’t get it." I mean this literally. You do not get "it," that "it" being the depth and the
complexity of the problem. If you aren’t willing to listen and lament, you truly cannot understand the minority experience and what needs to change.

Yes, there is a time for action. Yes, that time is now. But
no, brown folk don’t need a “white savior.” No, women don’t need a man to
explain how we can work together to fix the problem. No, oppressed minority
groups do not need the majority to lead them to victory as though the only way
to win is through majority culture leadership. You, dear friend, you who are so
passionately asking, “How do I help?” by your truly humble question, prove that you
want to learn. You also prove that you shouldn’t be arguing with people when
they answer you. Because you don't know. When you are told to listen and lament, then, do it. Do. It.

I told you the answer might not be something you wanted to
hear. And yes, there are actions to be done, stands to be made, and truth to be
shared. But until you can understand the helplessness that a minority of any
kind feels, day in and day out, you won’t know how to help. Until you can
listen and lament, your actions will be unhelpful, your stands will be awkward,
and your truth will be biased.

Actually, even after you listen, you’re still going to mess
it up sometimes. That’s the message of the gospel—that we’re all broken people
who need a savior to restore and reconcile us to himself and one another. But
the odds are much better for your actions to succeed if you educate yourself
first. The chances will be much better that your stand will make a difference,
and that your truth will be heard and taken to heart by others.

Still mad? Good. Still uncomfortable? Excellent. Still
frustrated? Fantastic. Now sit with that. Sit in it. Ask God about it. Cry out
to him about it, like the Psalmist did. Not just because it’s good for you
(though it certainly is), but also because in this work of listening and
lamenting, you are joining the work that
is already being done by brothers and sisters around the country. You are
joining the cries of kidnapped men, women, and children that were in horrific conditions
during the Middle Passage and in chattel slavery. You are weeping along with
immigrants who have paid life savings and risked drowning, starvation,
suffocation, and being shamed, all to leave behind everything familiar. When
you scream aloud with women who have been sexually harassed, abused,
objectified and debased, you are joining the Holy Spirit and even the entire
earth in groaning and pleading for the coming justice of the King. When you are
willing to not just stand with others,
but actually helplessly lie down in the street with those who are most
vulnerable, then you are emulating Jesus and the sacrifices he made to dwell
among us. Then you will receive greater understanding.

Because if you don’t understand at all the misery,
vulnerability, and plight of human beings that I just described above, if you
think it’s really not that bad, that the stories are inaccurate and biased, and if you feel the need to say “yeah, but—”
then you are not ready for action. And nobody wants to hear that. I know, I don't want to hear that. I don't want to sit and wait on the Lord. But we all have to do it at one time or another, so why not now? Enter into this Advent season willing to listen and lament. Willing to wait on Jesus to arrive in unexpected and unheralded ways.

You may need to have some concrete steps to learning how to listen and lament, and I get it. I'm that way, too. So read Prophetic Lament by Soong-Chan Rah. Heck, just read the book of Lamentations in the Bible. Read The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander. Read this brother's blog post (with an open mind) on Ferguson: Why "Hands Up, Don't Shoot" Still Matters. Visit the National African-American Museum at the Smithsonian, or the Civil Rights museums in cities like Memphis, Birmingham, Atlanta. Watch Do The Right Thing, 12 Years a Slave, or A Time to Kill. And if you want to know more about the immigrant experience, the LGBT experience, women's experience, or any of a number of minority experiences, stories aren't hard to find. As my good friend Jemar would say, "Google it. Google. It." People are willing to share, but let them do so on their own terms.

We are all created in the image of God, and what a painful, wonderful blessing it is to listen to each others' stories, lament with one another, and wait on the Lord.

Tuesday, November 08, 2016

Well, here I am once again, with delusions of presidential grandeur. I figure if some of the current candidates can fancy themselves worthy of the presidency, why can't I? Ah ha ha ha ha! *whimper*

If you know me at all, you're pretty aware that I'm no fan of Trump, nor am I a big Hillary fan. (I miss Bernie. Hell, I miss McCain as the Republican nominee, at this point.) But the reasons I did or didn't vote for him or her might not be what you'd think:

I didn't vote for him or her because of his or her personality.

Please appreciate my syntax here. That can be read both ways. It could be "the reason for my negative vote is the horribleness of said candidate." And there's something to that, especially with rhetoric that I believe defies ideals that the United States (at its best) stands for: acceptance, community, respect, and inclusion.

But syntactically, it could also be "I voted for him or her, but not because of his or her personality." Because at the end of the day, personality is only part of what does (or doesn't) qualify a candidate for office. Do I want a bombastic, hateful, unrepentant person in the White House? No. Do I think we've had those before? Actually, yes. But I think they could do their jobs because they knew how to lead, and how to inspire, and how to negotiate. Please note that all these descriptors, depending on how one defines them (good and bad), could apply equally well to either of the two main candidates, and probably to Gary Johnson, as well. (I only know this because I'm from New Mexico, and I fondly/embarrassedly remember him as governor.).

Lots of previous presidents have had terrible personalities. And discussions of social media, globalization, and a digital age aside, we were more shielded from those personalities. Those personalities sometimes got in the way, and sometimes didn't. But we're not voting for a pastor, people. We're not proposing to a future spouse. At the end of the day, it would be nice if our president were honest, gracious, and well-spoken. But some of our best past-presidents have been adulterers, thieves, liars, and awkward as hell. Yet they could still do their damn job. So that's who I voted for. I voted for the person I thought could best do the job, based on experience, credibility, reliability, etc. Not being an asshat is part of the job, but honestly, I'm willing to go with someone who can fumble through it and fake it a little. Is that cynical and defeatist? Maybe. Is that wasteful and hypocritical? Possibly. Is that enough reason to not vote? For me, no. If you didn't vote because you despise both major party candidates, I hear you. And I'm not judging you really, just looking at you a little sadly. Which really is far worse, right? Ha ha ha sorry.

So I did vote for him or her because of his or her abilities, or at least what I think they are. And I voted. Because I'm a citizen of heaven who trusts in the Kingship of Christ but has been sent into temporary exile in this world to love God and humans who are created in his image. My ultimate, heavenly citizenship doesn't mean I blow off caring about this world, it means I try to do it as Christ did. I want to engage people well. I want to remember to keep my eyes on heaven, part of which means seeing the people and needs around me. I want to engage people with passionate kindness and kind passion. (Ooh! That's a good one. Lawyer friends, please help me trademark that phrase.)

So who did I vote for? Not Jesus Christ (ugh), because he doesn't need my vote and he's in charge of everything, anyway. I voted for [SENTENCE REDACTED FOR PRIVACY AND NATIONAL SECURITY ISSUES]. We'll see how it goes.